Village of Sutton, 

Un texte de Ronald Salhany

Paru dans le numéro

Publié le : 15 février 2023

Dernière mise à jour : 18 février 2023


And every season mother nature graces us with all the weather she has and as long as we are in Sutton, all is right with the world.

in the Eastern Townships, Province of Quebec

poem Sutton
Tiffany Monk. En Route to Sutton, 2021

Our weekend ritual begins on Friday.

Fill the Coleman Cooler with contents of the fridge,

Pack a few things, load the car and head to the bridge,

Cross the mighty St. Lawrence River and head south.

Soon we exit the highway and for the next 30 minutes we are on 

a two-lane country road, up and down hills, turning this way and that, 

passing the cows and the horses grazing in the fields,

and even an Alpaca ranch raising animals that look like cartoon characters.

We arrive at Gilman’s corner named after Dudley Gilman.

He settled there in 1799 and 223 years later it is still named after him. 

Now we follow another narrower

more winding and up and down road carved through the forest. Homes on both 

sides, we pass the house where in the fall, they sell fresh garlic from the garden. 

We always buy a braid, and because it is braided it stays fresh the whole winter. 

Nothing like fresh garlic!

We continue winding our way and soon we pass the “used-to-be” golf course, 

It is now closed, with mostly overgrown greens and fairways, 

it seems so forlorn and sad like it was unneeded and tossed aside. But it used to be very important 

to the active lifestyle of Sutton and now it is gone unlikely ever to return. 

In a few more kilometers at the bottom of the hill the jewel comes into view, our village of Sutton. 

I never tire of looking right through the village and letting my eyes settle on the beautiful mountain range that forms a backdrop. 

I always drive through feeling at once a little more peaceful and at the same time a country-weekend type of energy.

It has a quaint, old feeling to it, with old buildings that have been renovated, painted, and spruced up but nevertheless evoke a feeling that the buildings know better, they are still old!

They house the bakery which is owned by a little French fellow. He has little round rimless glasses perched on his nose, he wears short pants that cover his knees but reveal his skinny little legs, he looks like a combination of Don Knotts and Ghandi;

there is the cheese shop in a house that dates from the 1850’s, 

the naturalist store, the bagel shop where they make delicious bagels in a wood fired oven, 

and also a few clothing boutiques and of course a gift shop. 

The main street has no traffic lights, and it is busy with old locals, new locals and weekenders. 

My friends and I could sit on a sidewalk café and 

greet any number of people walking by. It feels warm and it feels good.

For the last leg of our journey, we turn left off the main street and climb up the mountain for 5 minutes to our cottage. 

Another jewel, at least to us it is. 

We unpack the car, take everything upstairs and say, “Hello house, did you miss us while we were gone? We missed you”.

And so, we will enjoy the comfort and peacefulness 

of this retreat, 

looking through the big bay windows at the mountain, 

watching sunsets color it 

in all shades of orange, and reds, 

we will tend the garden and take walks. And every season mother nature graces us with all the weather she has and 

as long as we are in Sutton, 

all is right with the world. 

Ronald Salhany